


our october day is almost gone

by jonphaedrus



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, or the eggsy makes it so that everyone lives nobody dies au, timeline reset fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he would do it all again, just to be able once say he did it right. To just, once more, wrap Harry in his arms, kiss him, feel Harry smile against his lips. It’s enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our october day is almost gone

**Author's Note:**

> because every fandom needs its healthy dose of groundhog day/timeline reset fanfic. i meant for this to be a lot more upsetting and/or a lot longer than it is o well,,,
> 
> idk at some point i may right more/a longer version of this but probs not

His father never jumps on the grenade, and four good men die alone in a room where nobody will ever know them.

As soon as Eggsy is old enough, he takes them all back.

 

 

Harry dies in a firefight when Eggsy is twelve, taking eighteen shots to the chest to protect Lancelot and the man who will someday be Percival, protecting them with his life, bravery and heroism and _stupidity_ all in one package, and Eggsy resets the timeline.

 

 

When Eggsy is eighteen, Harry is shot in a drive-by shooting in Caracas. He wasn’t even supposed to be there—he took the mission for Lancelot, who had a bad stomach bug and couldn’t fly while he was vomiting helplessly in his loo.

It’s an accident. A stupid accident. Eggsy resets the timeline.

 

 

When Professor Arnold’s head explodes, Harry falls into a coma. He doesn’t wake up, and Eggsy waits and waits, knowing he’s _supposed_ to, but Arthur finally decrees they pull the plug, and Eggsy’s broken crying does nothing but reset the timeline and take them all back to the start.

 

 

Valentine doesn’t even pretend that it’s that kind of a movie, he just has Gazelle shoot Harry the moment the driver pulls away. She doesn’t pull his body into the empty house, just leaves him there. They let the driver come back for the body.

 Eggsy resets the timeline.

 

 

How many times does Harry die at that church in Kentucky? A dozen, a hundred? How many times does Eggsy live his entire life until the day he met—was supposed to meet—Harry Hart? Innumerable times, because anything, everything, could kill him.

But almost always, it’s Valentine’s gun that does. The sickening click of the safety pulling back, the crunch of the trigger, the deafening blast of the shot.

Harry dies on the pavement of a Kentucky parking lot, his head a mess of blood and brains, and sometimes Eggsy doesn’t know if he can do it again, and again, and again.

 

 

In the movies, a coma is easy. It’s what you do with characters who you don’t want to kill, but you want to bring back later. They spring hale and whole and healthy from their hospital bed, ready to take on the world.

In reality, there are so many ways to die in a coma. There are so many ways _Harry_ can die, so many ways that by the time Eggsy is shaking and empty and older, so much older than his years, he knows more about traumatic brain injury than he ever wanted to. He knows now that you can have to guess and hope with skull removal for swelling. He knows now that seizures can kill you, he knows that sometimes people flatline for no real reason. He knows the word _idiopathic_ and he’s seen more of Harry pale and ashen on a bed to last him more than the dozens of lifetimes he’s already lived. But, when Harry does survive it, and sometimes he does, it’s so worth it to see him wake up, watch him piece himself back together.

Eggsy lives for the warmth in Harry’s soft brown eyes when he wakes up, the smile on his face, the dimples in his cheeks, and the knowledge that this time, this one time, he has succeeded.

 

  

Once, Harry says he’s too old for Eggsy, one midafternoon three days after he turns sixty-six, and Eggsy doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry how many lives he has lived, how many times he’s gone back to that one horrible die when his father died, to give Harry the life he deserves. How many times he’s seen, held, felt Harry die like it was his own body ripped apart, and broken down as he’s had to begin all over again. How many times has he lost Harry–how many?

Beyond counting. Beyond measure. Eggsy has lived so many lives, so many times, for Harry.

And he would do it all again, just to be able once say he did it right. To just, once more, wrap Harry in his arms, kiss him, feel Harry smile against his lips. _It’s enough._

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr @professorjonathanphaedrus


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